


Show Me Where It Hurts

by astano



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She really shouldn’t want to laugh, but now that she knows Miranda’s fine, the thought <em>Miranda’s got a bruised ass</em> runs through her mind and she only barely manages to stifle a giggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Where It Hurts

No one could have seen it coming, and Andy is only grateful that there aren’t many people around as witnesses. There are only the two of them on the street, and perhaps Roy might have seen, but he would have had to have glanced through the rearview mirror at just the right time.

Black ice on the pavement outside of Miranda’s townhouse has Miranda flying through the air—as ungracefully as anyone else, Andy is almost surprised to note, although, mainly, her heart lodges in her chest as Miranda’s legs fly out from under her and she lands heavily on the ground a split second later.

“Miranda!” Andy’s voice betrays her panic, and she moves as quickly as she can—mindful of the possibility of more patches of ice invisible to the eye—to Miranda’s side. “Are you okay? Here, let me help you. I can—” The glare Miranda levels at her seems to suck all the rambling right out of Andy’s mouth, and she stops mid-sentence, wordlessly holding out her hands for Miranda to take.

Being allowed to touch Miranda is still such a new development that Andy can’t help but react to the sensation of Miranda’s hands sliding into her own. Her body seems to almost tingle where their skin touches, and she shivers, although the feeling is almost immediately suppressed by her continuing concern.

After a quick assessment, however, Andy determines that Miranda looks fine. She can walk and doesn’t appear to have broken anything, but still, Andy keeps one arm linked with Miranda’s as they make their way inside.

Andy deposits their shopping—every bit of it Christmas presents for the girls—in the hall closet, and wanders through to the kitchen, where Miranda’s already pouring herself a glass of water.

There’s a can of soda waiting on the worktop for Andy, and she grabs it and a glass, murmuring her thanks. She’s just popped the tab and is about to pour it out when she hears a surprised yelp of pain from Miranda—who’s just tried to sit down in one of the chairs at the breakfast bar.

Biting her lip so as not to say anything, Andy watches as Miranda slowly stands up again glaring at the chair as if it is personally to blame for causing her pain. Her gaze turns on Andy then, eyebrows raising as if daring Andy to say anything.

But Andy never was truly scared of Miranda’s glare. “Maybe you should go lie down for a while,” she says. “On your stomach, of course.”

She really shouldn’t want to laugh, but now that she knows Miranda’s fine, the thought _Miranda’s got a bruised ass_ runs through her mind and she only barely manages to stifle a giggle. Then, before she even has time to process the thought, she’s saying, “I could kiss it better for you.”

Miranda makes a disgruntled sound, and glares at Andy some more. “I really don’t think—”

“I think you should go upstairs,” Andy says, stepping towards Miranda, and reaching out to take the glass of water from her hand, placing it to the side. “Get undressed, get on the bed and let me kiss all your pain away.”

“Hmph.” Miranda sniffs, turning her face away from the kiss Andy was meaning to land on her lips. It lands on her cheek instead, and Andy grins as her lips make contact, because she knows Miranda’s just being difficult. It doesn’t bother her in the way it might have a few months ago, because she can read the effect her words, and her nearness, have on Miranda. It’s the way her breath hitches just slightly, and then resumes faster, more pronounced; the way her eyelids flutter; and how she reaches back to grip the kitchen counter, like her knees are suddenly not strong enough to support her weight.

“How long until the girls are home?” Andy asks.

“Hours,” Miranda says. Her voice is uneven, and she’s getting the slight blush to her cheeks that Andy’s starting to know means she’s thinking about all the things they could do in that amount of time.

“Do you want me to kiss it all better?”

~

It turns out Miranda does.

~

Miranda’s barely shut the bedroom door behind them when Andy leans in, pressing her front to Miranda’s back and Miranda’s front against the door.

Her mouth lands hot against Miranda’s neck, and when Miranda exhales a groan, she can feel it against her lips. She sucks hard against the skin, then bites down with enough force to redden, but not leave a mark.

“I want you,” she murmurs, presses another kiss, then another. “So bad.”

Miranda hums her agreement, turns her head until Andy can kiss her properly, sliding their mouths together—awkwardly at this angle, but Andy doesn’t care. Miranda doesn’t seem to care either, because her mouth opens eagerly to the swipe of Andy tongue, and when Andy’s hands work the buttons of her blouse open and push down into her bra, Miranda groans shamelessly against her mouth.

Andy feels the weight of Miranda’s breasts settle in her palms, slides fingers either side of nipples that are already erect, and pulls lightly, with just the right amount of force to make Miranda gasp out, reach back to clutch at Andy’s arm.

“Oh,” Miranda says, trembles a little in Andy’s arms, then presses back instinctively. And she’s forgotten, Andy knows she has, that she’s a little sore. Forgotten all about how this started, because she always does; as soon as Andy’s hands are touching her, as soon as Andy’s lips are on her body, Miranda forgets everything. The power inherent in that is something Andy doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of.

Miranda’s ass makes contact with Andy’s body and she lets out a small hiss of pain.

“Poor baby,” Andy murmurs, then hides her smile in the crook of Miranda’s neck. And she’s walking a fine line, she knows she is, because Miranda can’t bear to be made fun of, can’t bear it at all, even when it’s done with love.

But then, “I remember,” Miranda says, turning in Andy’s arms and pinning her with a look that has Andy’s breath catching in her throat and her panties soaking through. “There was talk of you kissing my ass.”

“Uh.”

Miranda lets her blouse drop to the floor, followed by her bra, then walks towards the bed, deliberately emphasising the body part in question, which looks ridiculously good in the pants she’s wearing—so much so that Andy’s finding it kind of hard to breathe.

“Are you coming?”

The speed with which Andy strips off her clothing would be amusing under any other circumstance, but as it is, she’s just glad to be free of them, and following Miranda—who’s also naked now—towards the bed.

Miranda reclines gracefully, propping herself up on the side that obviously doesn’t hurt, while Andy all but throws herself down onto the bed. She’s never managed graceful, and honestly, she thinks Miranda kind of likes her almost unrefined enthusiasm when it comes to being allowed to touch Miranda’s body.

“Hi,” she says, grinning when Miranda just rolls her eyes then presses fingers to the nape of Andy’s neck, drawing her into a kiss that quickly grows heated. 

They’re both breathing heavily when Andy pulls away minutes later, and she somewhat dazedly says, “You need to roll over, Miranda.”

Miranda looks confused, then a little surprised. “Oh,” she says faintly. “You’re really going to…”

Andy nods. 

Once Miranda’s lying comfortably on her stomach, Andy moves to sit straddling her thighs. From here she can see the slight discolouration to Miranda’s almost flawless skin—like she’d landed on a stone or something else that had dug into her with more force than just hitting the sidewalk—and she knows there’s going to be a pretty impressive bruise there come morning.

She reaches out, gingerly brushing the backs of her fingers over the affected area. Miranda flinches initially but then sighs and says, “That’s rather nice, actually. Your hands are cold.”

Andy smiles, then leans forward, pressing her lips against the curve of Miranda’s neck where it meets her shoulder. Miranda exhales heavily, murmuring her pleasure, and Andy feels a tightening in her own gut in response; feels Miranda’s enjoyment acutely, almost as if it were her own.

She lays a trail of kisses over Miranda’s shoulders, runs her tongue down Miranda’s spine, and sucks at the sensitive skin of her lower back.

“Andrea,” Miranda sighs, pushing herself up from the bed, against Andy’s mouth.

Andy wriggles herself further down the bed, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin of Miranda’s ass.

“ _Oh_.” Miranda moans, then, raising her hips further from the bed, and Andy can smell her now; see evidence of Miranda’s arousal painted over the tops of her thighs.

She urges Miranda up onto her hands and knees—and _fuck_ , Miranda on her hands and knees, wet and so ready for Andy’s fingers, for Andy to fuck her. Andy almost comes on the spot, just at the thought of what she’s about to do.

Miranda’s ass sways in front of her, almost mesmerising, and Andy bends forward, kisses her ass again and again as she reaches out, steadying herself with one hand while the other cups Miranda, feels slickness coat her fingers immediately.

Miranda’s never been this wet, and Andy can’t help but groan as her fingers slip easily inside. “Oh God, Miranda.”

Andy’s fingers curl and Miranda clenches around them. It’s not going to take much today, Andy can tell, not like this, not with the way Miranda’s already practically hyperventilating, how she’s pushing back onto Andy’s fingers eagerly, urging her deeper with each stroke.

Andy drags her tongue back up, over Miranda’s back, tasting the salt on her skin and feeling the tension in her muscles.

“You feel so good, Miranda,” she murmurs when her mouth is level with Miranda’s ear. “God, I wish we could do this always.”

Miranda grunts her agreement, then, “Oh, please— _please_ , Andrea, I need— “

Andy can’t, though, not from this position, and Miranda seems to realise that, because seconds later, her own hand is reaching between her legs. Andy feels the brush of it, knows Miranda’s pressing hard against her clit.

It doesn’t take long then, with her fingers stroking inside Miranda, and Miranda’s fingers slipping over her clit again and again for Miranda to come, shuddering and bucking back against Andy, crying out loudly—louder than Andy’s ever heard her be.

Andy works her through it until Miranda sinks forward, seemingly no longer able to hold herself up.

“That was wonderful,” she murmurs, and she seems dazed, almost drunk, so much so that Andy can’t help but feel a little proud of herself.

She places one last, lingering kiss to Miranda’s ass then slides up the bed. They have time enough, she thinks, before the girls are due home, to enjoy each other for a little longer.


End file.
